Paper Pushers
by EvelynWn
Summary: Mummy Holmes goes overboard with planning Sherlock and Molly's wedding and now Greg is left with an irritable consulting detective who's desperate for a distraction. When life gives you lemons hope to God your boss can't tell when someone else is doing your paperwork.


Note: I know Mary is supposed to be dead at this point in the story but I just couldn't resist adding her. It was too perfect.

* * *

It was a beautiful day outside, one of the warmest London had seen in over a month. Normally this irritated Greg, not because he didn't enjoy the warm weather, he quite enjoyed throwing open every window in his tiny house or sitting on his little porch with a cold beer and a warm breeze. The problem, of course, was that he wasn't at home, he was stuck at work in an office that's windows didn't open looking out at the people passing on the street below wearing tank tops and shorts while he was stuck in dress clothes.

Today, however, was different. Today he had hope! London had been shockingly quiet the past few days. A confession here or there, obvious murder weapons and definitive fingerprints, all led to one conclusion… he might just manage to get off early today. Wonder of all wonders. A miracle by all definitions. Paperwork could be done tomorrow, chores could be delegated to people who'd actually had a chance to sleep last night, and Sherlock Holmes was busy trying to convince his pathologist fiancée to skip all the trouble and elope somewhere.

Or so he thought.

"For God's sake, Greg. Answer your phone." His door slammed open hard enough to bounce the wall and loud enough to startle the Detective Inspector into spilling the coffee he hadn't even had a chance to drink yet all over his lap.

After an undignified yelp and knocking his chair over in a futile attempt to save himself from the scalding hot drink, he glared at Sherlock, who had the sense to look apologetic, and hand him a few napkins he got from God knows where.

"What are you doing here, Sherlock?" Greg asked irritably as he mopped up his trousers to the best of his ability.

"Why aren't you answering your mobile?" Sherlock countered throwing himself into the chair on the other side of his desk in such a way that Greg knew he was in for a bad time.

"Left it at home." Lestrade shrugged.

Sherlock groaned.

"What do you want, Sherlock. Aren't you supposed to be busy planning your wedding or something?"

This time the groan sounded more like a growl and Greg knew exactly why Sherlock was there. That was the sort of noise a married (or a divorced one in this case) man could empathize with.

"That bad huh?"

"I am beginning to wonder if my mother thinks she is planning her own wedding rather than mine."

Lestrade gave a pitying chuckle. "I got lucky there, my parents lived all the way out Timbuktu when I got engaged."

"They were in America when I informed them of my engagement."

"Christ, they flew all the way out here just to plan the thing? Where are they gonna live until it happens, a hotel?"

"They have a house in London. I tried to convince Mycroft to let me burn it down years ago but he said Mummy would just buy another one if I did so there wasn't any point. He sounded nearly as disappointed as I felt, come to think about it. Eurus gets to burn down buildings." He complained causing a chuckle from the older detective.

"To be fair, I'm pretty sure no one gave her permission."

"She's almost got Molly convinced we should just get Mycroft a marriage license and print out a certificate. Even I couldn't manage that."

"Mycroft can get a marriage license?"

"Anyone can get a marriage license these days."

"Oh,"

"For the past week it's been 'Sherlock do this' or 'I don't care how nice he is, Sherlock, you're not having cheap Italian food at your wedding' or 'It's a wedding, not a funeral, William, we're not decorating in black," Sherlock mocked in a snooty sounding high pitched voice.

"William?" Greg asked the name had come entirely from left field. William? Was it a middle name or…?

"I'll be celebrating a funeral soon if she doesn't stop disregarding everything Molly says." He grumbled ignoring Greg.

Lestrade sighed and asked the question that he was more likely to get an actual answer about. He'd get the information from John later or something.

"Why on Earth would you pick black for your wedding?"

"Molly picked yellow."

"So…"

"John liked my idea of having Rosie dress in a honey bee costume." Sherlock pouted.

"Rosie?"

"Flower girl."

"Oh, right. Duh."

Lestrade pictured the little two-year-old walking down the aisle in a little honey bee suit throwing flower petals in random directions because she was too little to quite get the concept that the flowers go on the ground and not in the guest's hair. "That's…" Greg started, deciding how exactly he felt about that picture, "kinda adorable, actually."

"Thank you!" Sherlock said, sounding like he actually meant it this time. "Molly liked it too, but no! 'She needs to wear the same thing as the bridesmaids, Sherlock, everyone knows that. For the love of God, tell me you have a case I can work on or something."

"Wish I could, Sherlock, but I've got nothing." For once, Greg was genuinely sorry. Every bloke needed a break from wedding planning at some point, and Sherlock sounded like he needed it more than anyone.

"Please! I'll take anything! It doesn't even have to be murder! An unidentified burglar or hell I'll chase after a pickpocket if you want. Anything Greg." Sherlock pleaded.

"I'm sorry, but I really don't have anything right now. It's been a slow week, everything I've got already has someone assigned to it."

"So move them! I'll do a better job anyway." Sherlock jumped up, pacing now that it looked like he was going to be denied freedom from the oppression of his mother.

"Sherlock, I don't even have a case right now, I might even be able to get off early there's so little to do at the moment." He tried again, why couldn't John just take Sherlock to the park or something isn't that what most people did with their five-year-olds?

"God, you're useless!" Sherlock yelled in frustration.

"Yeah, thanks. I'm sorry, but literally, the only thing I have to do left is paperwork and I'm out of here myself."

"I'll take it," Sherlock said and abruptly stopped pacing.

"Sorry, what?"

"What are you doing, writing reports? I can do that. Signing papers? I can write your signature better than you can, whatever it is I'll do it." Sherlock leaned on Greg's desk, his face dead serious.

"You want to do paperwork." He reiterated, his brain attempting to grasp the absurdity of what he'd heard. "You won't even come in after a case to give me a written statement, and you're telling me you'll do my paperwork."

"Anything," Sherlock repeated over-enunciating each syllable.

"I'm not allowed to…"

"I'll copy your writing style, no one will ever know, I swear."

Greg hesitated, he shouldn't, he really shouldn't, but the offer was just too tempting to resist.

"Fine," he said with a long-suffering sigh, "but don't sign anything. I don't want to have to arrest you for forgery, you can write a few reports and I'll sign them later." He pulled out a case folder, "here's the details on this one, just write the facts, no opinions, no deductions. Got it?"

"Yes!"

Greg wasn't sure if it was an affirmative or a cheer, but he let it go regardless.

"I've got a laptop around here somewhere you can use to type it up." He stood to search around for it but Sherlock didn't wait.

"I'll use my mobile, and still get done faster than you would have." Sherlock pulled out the device and opened the folder, memorizing all the details.

"I don't doubt it," Greg replied returning to his computer to continue his own report.

It was mostly quiet for a while, much to the Detective Inspector's surprise. Every once in a while Sherlock would make an offhand comment on the case or threaten his spell checker, but for the most part, it was almost like the younger man wasn't even there. Though, he did snicker every time Greg attempted to drink his coffee before remembering he'd spilled it everywhere and had forgotten to get a new cup.

Sherlock was just finishing up his second report, while Greg was still struggling through his first one before they were interrupted by John's sudden appearance.

"There you are, Sherlock. I was looking all over for you." John going said, showing signs of hidden irritation, though Greg didn't think they were directed at Sherlock for once.

"Clearly," Sherlock replied as he printed the report and placed it on Lestrade's desk for a signature.

"What are you doing? Is that a case report?" John observed skimming the page and looking from Sherlock to Greg, Greg just shrugged his best it's Sherlock what can you do? shrug.

"I'm helping."

"No, you're looking for an excuse to get out of planning your own wedding." John crossed his arms and looked for all the world like he was scolding his two-year-old rather than his best friend.

"I assure you, I had zero impact on anything that was planned before I left and that isn't going to change whether I'm there or not," Sherlock said through his teeth, throwing himself back down on his chair and pulling out the next case file.

John stood there for a moment, and Greg could just see his brain working before he sighed in resignation and sat down in the other chair beside Sherlock. "Can't argue with that." He grumbled. "God, she's a menace isn't she."

"You have no idea."

"If she even tries to get Mary to wear that hideous bridesmaid gown Mary'll flip a gasket. It's pumpkin orange for Christ's sake."

"I thought we were doing yellow?" Sherlock looked up from his mobile.

"She changed her mind."

"Molly?"

"Of course not,"

Sherlock's only response was an irritated growl as he turned back to the phone.

"Got any more?" John said looking at Greg now, the older detective raised an eyebrow at him and he gave a shrug. "She's not my mum. If he doesn't have to go back why should I?"

Greg chuckled and tossed a file onto the desk in front of him. "Be my guest, there's a laptop somewhere over there."

It only took a few minutes for John to find it and get it booted up. Lestrade wasn't too worried about anyone claiming he hadn't written it, even though John wasn't as likely to be able to mimic his writing style as Sherlock. The higher ups didn't care about style and John knew how to write a decent enough report so that would be enough.

Again the sound of typing filled the room, this time interrupted by Sherlock's comments and John swearing whenever he noticed a typo or accidentally tapped on the touchpad. And he had to endure both Sherlock's snickers and John's amused grins every time he tried to drink from his empty coffee cup.

As the clock neared the point where he could reasonably be allowed to clock out and he was trying to think of ways to convince them to go home so he could do the same the door swung open again. Expecting Sally or one of his other team had more papers for him he was surprised to find Mycroft Holmes of all people standing in his doorway.

"Go away, Mycroft." Sherlock didn't even look up, no doubt recognizing his breathing pattern or something silly like that.

"Sherlock, for the love of… I will not be the one informing Mummy that you can't be bothered to plan your own wedding." Mycroft sneered, Greg had never seen such a look on the British Government's face. He figured spending too much time with one's mother might just have an adverse effect on one's maturity level.

"Then don't. You don't have to go tattle to mum constantly y'know." Sherlock rolled his eyes but still didn't look up from his mobile.

"You're being childish…" Mycroft started but stopped when Greg jumped up from his seat.

"Christ, I need more coffee if I'm going to have to put up with the two of you today." He said maneuvering around his desk, "you brats want anything?"

"Black, two sugars."

"Yes, Sherlock everyone knows how you take your coffee." Greg sighed, "John, Mycroft?"

"Sure, thanks, Greg," John replied with a smile looking up from his laptop, and Greg looked at Mycroft.

"From that cesspool of filth and vile human…" Mycroft began before John cut him off.

"Mycroft" The ex-army doctor/mother warned not looking away from his screen.

Mycroft gave a pathetic grin. "No, thank you."

"Uh, huh." Greg made for the door, now even more desperate for his drug of choice… caffeine.

"What on Earth are you doing anyway?" Greg heard Mycroft ask just as the door shut and he was able to heave a sigh of relief.

He was tempted to just go home now, let them stay for as long as they like, enjoy the nice day, and deal with the repercussions in the morning. But he had promised coffee, and leaving now would feel like he'd been kicked out of his own office, so he filled three cups and put the correct amount of sweetener in each, taking the time to label the lids just in case before returning to his now crowded office.

To his surprise, it was Molly who opened the door to grant him spill-free access when he returned. "Molly, what are you doing here?" He knew there was no point in asking, but he had to anyway. He couldn't help but notice Mycroft had commandeered his desk and computer.

And was he rewriting Greg's report?

What on Earth? Was Mummy Holmes really so annoying that she'd convinced three people to do someone else's paperwork? One of which had his own paperwork no doubt stacked in obsessively neat piles on his own desk?

What is wrong with this woman?

"Looking for Sherlock, of course." She said with an amused smile. She at least understood the situation to be as ridiculous as he did.

"Let me guess, you're planning on sticking around too," Greg asked passing out the coffee and resigned to being unable to sit down in his own office.

"Do you have another computer?" She said giggling a little.

"Sorry, don't have another chair either. Too bad Sherlock's not enough of a gentleman to give you his seat." Greg gave Sherlock a sharp jab with his elbow and received a glare in response. Sherlock did, however, pull Molly into his lap, adjusting his mobile so he could comfortably type with it still.

John grinned at his computer, but said nothing, while Mycroft watched them out of the corner of his eye, his face unreadable, Greg, however, chuckled under his breath and sipped his coffee leaning against a filing cabinet.

"When did you leave Baker Street, Mycroft? I didn't see you go," Molly asked, in between reading out facts from Sherlock's case folder so he didn't have to stop typing to look at it.

"When Mummy started trying to convince me to find a way to let Eurus come to the wedding." He said turning to fully face her, still typing away, now that he had an excuse.

Molly just nodded silently, but Sherlock made a noise of panic finally looking up from his mobile.

"What!?" The consulting detective exclaimed in horror.

"Indeed." Mycroft nodded, agreeing in tone more than word.

"She threatened to blow Molly up!" John added his own incredulous horror to the conversation.

"She did," Mycroft agreed again turning back to the computer.

"I swear I'm gonna kill her." Sherlock groaned.

"Wait until after she pays for everything," John said with a smirk, resulting in a chuckle from most of the room's occupants. Molly wasn't so amused, however.

"That's not fair, she's very sweet, she's just…" she trailed off, looking for the right word.

"Extremely bossy?" John supplied,

"Intentionally smothering?" Sherlock tried,

"Supremely ignorant?" Mycroft added,

"Absolutely terrifying?" Greg decided to add his own assumptions on the woman he's never even met.

"Lost in her own world." Molly finished, rolling her eyes at the men around her. She didn't do that before she and Sherlock finally got together. Greg wasn't sure if it was just a habit she picked up from him or his brand of craziness required picking up the habit by itself.

Sherlock shrugged, "could be all of the above."

"Except terrifying," John said with a look that said the joke might have been taken too far. "That woman couldn't hurt a fly."

Greg was relieved until Sherlock opened his mouth.

"She's a black belt in Aikido," Sherlock said with an eyebrow raised at his best friend.

"Seriously?" John all but abandoned his report to bounce his gaze between Sherlock and Mycroft.

Mycroft gave a noise to the affirmative. "Indeed, we had a break in once, Sherlock was still an infant then, I believe he is in a wheelchair to this day. We won the lawsuit afterward, of course."

"Rich and terrifying, lovely. I'm not going to have to meet her, am I?"

"I suggest avoiding all little old ladies at our wedding," Molly said looking up at him, "just to be safe."

"That's if she survives that long," Sherlock grumbled under his breath.

"It's in bad form to plot murder in front of a Scotland Yard homicide detective, Sherlock," Mycroft warned sending another report to the printer.

"It would be the only clue they get," Sherlock replied with a slightly unnerving grin.

"I don't doubt that," Greg added more to himself than anyone else as he sipped his coffee. The door opened once more revealing two more people no doubt escaping the madness of Mrs. Holmes.

"Hiding out are we?" Mary said with an amused smile. Greg held the door open as she and Mrs. Hudson, of all people, passed through.

"Christ, any more people show up and Mrs. Holmes'll be planning this wedding by herself," Greg muttered, not expecting a reply.

"She already is." Everyone from Mycroft to Mrs. Hudson said in disturbing unison.

"Okay," Greg replied slowly.

"Has she realized I left yet?" Sherlock asked Mary, looking up from his mobile.

"Nope. She's had at least three conversations with your empty chair, possibly four, maybe five." Mary shrugged clearly amused.

"My goodness that woman can talk." Mrs. Hudson shook her head.

"So that's where you get it from," John said hitting his knee to emphasize his words. "And here I thought you were the only one."

"I don't do that," Sherlock said without much actual conviction.

"Mummy's worse," Mycroft ignored Sherlock's bold-faced lie. "She managed to spend a whole twelve hours talking to dad after he'd left the room one time, I timed her."

"I went to New Zealand for a week and he didn't even notice I was gone." John tried but Mycroft just laughed.

"No, that's entirely Sherlock. Mummy doesn't do that, she always knew when someone's left the house. Her house anyway."

"Even when it's the middle of the night and you've been super careful and there's no possible way for her to have known you left," Sherlock said through his teeth, and Greg couldn't help but wonder how many times Sherlock had gotten caught sneaking out at night.

"Especially when there's no possible way for her to have known." Mycroft agreed. "No, I have no idea where Sherlock got the ability to be entirely oblivious to people leaving for such long periods of time. You think a week is bad, it regularly took him over a month to realize I'd left for boarding school."

"That's because no one wanted you around, to begin with." Sherlock countered, no doubt irritated that they're comparing stories about him.

"Don't even go there, you used to start bawling every time I left." Mycroft rolled his eyes, another gesture Greg had never seen him make. The idea that regular contact with Sherlock just required the adoption of the expression was looking more likely.

"No, I cried so that Mum would make me cookies when I didn't have to put up with your hogging them all because you're bigger than me," Sherlock said with a mocking sneer. Mycroft looked up from the screen and stared at Sherlock and the two just looked at each other for a moment. Greg could see Mycroft's brain working.

"Shit." He said bluntly as hell. "You're telling the truth aren't you."

"Yep." Sherlock said popping the 'p' and grinning in triumph.

"I tried to use that excuse on Harry once." John mused.

"She punched you in the face, didn't she," Sherlock said with a smirk his gaze going back to his mobile.

"Yes."

"Sadly, I wasn't tall enough for that."

"Not that you didn't try," Mycroft added.

There was a light knock on the door and Lestrade's first instinct was to ignore it, not wanting more people crowding his office but Sally opened it herself and taking a look around.

"Since when do we host parties for local circuses?" She asked handing Greg a file. Her tone was held more amusement than actual disdain. Greg was actually pretty proud of her. After the fiasco with Eurus, Sally seemed to finally accept that Sherlock Holmes did, in fact, have feelings and she'd done a ruddy good job avoiding hurting those feelings when he was still recovering emotionally from everything his sister had put them through.

"We're looking for our clown," Sherlock replied throwing his head back over the back of his chair to look at her. Sherlock had responded to her lack of disdain so well that the Sargent hadn't really felt the need to ramp the teasing back up after he was safely recovered. They weren't friends, by any means, but they could hold legitimate conversations now.

"You know full well Anderson doesn't work here anymore." She said a hand on her hip.

John snorted while Sherlock grinned at the joke.

"Donavan, what does the plate outside my door say?" Greg asked, nodding his head at the door when she gave him a confused look. She opened the door wider so she could see it.

"Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. Same thing it's always said, why?" She said wondering the point of the question.

"Oh, I thought that someone must have changed it to 'good place to hide from Mummy Holmes' at some point as a joke."

She gave a short laugh. "Oh, God. I don't even want to imagine what Sherlock Holmes' mother would be like."

Mycroft looked mildly offended by this, but Sherlock's grin stayed in place. John straightened up and turned around to look at them.

"She's exactly like Sherlock but evil enough to convince you she's a sweet little old lady when you first meet her." He said causing laughter from everyone in the room except for Sherlock, who looked like he'd been betrayed.

Sherlock protested but was ignored, prompting Molly to hug him in sympathy, though she clearly agreed with John.

"At least Sherlock lets you know that he's a dick from the start." Mary sighed prompting more pouting from said dick. Sally chuckled before excusing herself from the room to return to her work.

There was a buzzing resulting in everyone, including Greg who stupidly remembered his mobile was at home and was left fumbling in empty pockets, to check their phones. Mycroft exited the room to take the call and Greg jumped at the chance to take his desk back and skimmed through the report Mycroft was working on. The printer was going nonstop, and the Detective Inspector had the faintest idea that he just might manage to get entirely caught up on his paperwork for the first time in his career. Since it didn't look like he was getting off early after all. He figured that was a fair trade.

"That was Father," Mycroft said as he re-entered the room, not seeming to notice that his seat had been reclaimed. Sherlock looked at him. "Apparently, Mother is now deciding what to name your children."

"For Christ's sake!" Sherlock exclaimed, all but braiding himself with the back of his chair.

"I'm going down to meet him at the entrance, he left her talking to your empty sitting room. She will be quite put out when she realizes." Mycroft's face remained passive but his voice was thin.

"The entrance? Entrance where? You don't mean…" Greg asked looking around, before sighing in resignation, "fine, whatever, bring him up. It's not like I'm going anywhere anytime soon."

Mycroft left with his permission, though Greg was fairly sure it wouldn't have mattered either way.

"If she thinks for one second I'm letting her name my children she's got another thing coming." Sherlock sneered typing harder than strictly necessary on his phone. Greg looked at Molly who'd gone pink at the casual way Sherlock mentioned their children and had a cute little smile that told Greg it wouldn't take long before he had to start shooing off children at his crime scenes. Greg smiled to himself at the thought. It was a far cry from the runaway junky he'd met all those years ago.

* * *

The next morning found Greg dropping a huge stack of reports and various paperwork on his wide-eyed boss' desk.

"Yes, I know it's a lot, but I have an explanation…" he started but trailed off hoping he wouldn't actually have to use the flimsy story he'd managed to come up with to explain how he'd managed to do much by himself in one day.

"I was told from the higher-ups to ask no questions." His boss said still staring at what should have taken at least a week if Greg was actually being diligent about his old cases. Greg wasn't very diligent with old cases.

"Yeah?" Greg said relieved, and he didn't need any more than that to know it had been one hundred percent Mycroft's doing.

"Yes."

"Okay then, I'll just be going."

"You must have friends in high places, Lestrade." He said shaking his head.

"Yeah." Greg agreed before leaving the office and breathing a sigh of relief.

As he returned to his blissfully empty office he thought about those friends. Lestrade had plenty of friends but that group, there was something different about that group and it didn't take him long to pinpoint what it was. That was a group of oddballs, an army doctor with an adrenaline addiction, a pathologist who makes morgue jokes, the widow of a drug dealer, a government official whose more socially repressed than his self-proclaimed sociopathic little brother, an ex-assassin, and a humble detective who's still in love with his cheating ex-wife, all brought together by one man, Sherlock Holmes.

And Greg had never been more proud of his Consulting Detective.

* * *

A/N) Hi! If you liked this consider checking out my published works at EvelynMichelleBooks .com . You can even get a free ebook by signing up for my email list. ^_^ See you there.


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